


The Thing About Muggles

by allonsysherlocklove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Potterlock, Wizard John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsysherlocklove/pseuds/allonsysherlocklove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is a retired Auror who has left the magical world behind to live a quiet life in London with his Muggle flatmate. However, when Scotland Yard finds a girl whose death is not natural, Sherlock is called in on the case, and John has to try to keep him from finding out about the magical world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was twilight as I approached Hogwarts castle. My cloak fluttered behind me, and my hood obscured my view. No need for me to cause unnecessary fuss. I caught sight of the white tomb that shone through the dusk and took a moment to pay a thought to the man who rested there.

As I approached the door, Hagrid stopped me. He looked much older than I remembered him, but it had been at least five years since I’d seen the groundskeeper.

‘Good ter see ya! I really bin missin’ ya.’

I threw back the hood of my cloak. ‘I’ve missed you too, Hagrid. It’s been far too long.’

‘Headmistress is waitin’ for ya, John Watson.’

‘Thanks, Hagrid.’

* * *

That is right. I, John Watson, am a wizard. I went to Hogwarts shortly before Harry Potter did. He was a first year when I was a seventh year. I hardly remember him from Hogwarts, beyond him being yet another terrified little first year in our common room.

But this is not a story about Harry Potter. This is a story about myself, and a wonderful, amazing Muggle that, in his own way, made a difference in a world that he had nothing to do with.

* * *

As I walked through the corridors of the castle, I felt at home and completely out of place at the same time. It had been more than a year since I’d last been anywhere magical, and for good reason.

I absentmindedly rubbed my shoulder that was aching as I approached the stone gargoyles outside the head’s office.

‘Felicia morphiga’ I said, and the gargoyles jumped aside. I walked past, sparing a glance for their ugly faces before quickly climbing the stairs. I paused outside the door and took a moment to suppress the old schoolboy nerves that had popped up from being here. As I raised my fist to knock, the door swung open, and I saw Minerva McGonagall sitting at her desk, beckoning me inside.

‘John Watson, It has been far too long.’

‘Hello, Minerva,’ I replied. ‘You look lovely as ever.’

‘Please, sit down.’ She stood and began to make a pot of tea. I crossed the room and sat at the chair in front of her desk.

‘Things are so much different now, aren’t they?’ I commented. ‘It was just yesterday I was here with Dumbledore getting in trouble for one thing or another.’

‘They are different, aren’t they. I hear you’re living with a Muggle man now. Not the lady’s man I remember from your years here.’

I sighed. Everyone loved to imply that I was gay. Not that it was completely false, but I still got tired of hearing it. Sherlock wasn’t interested in that sort of thing, and I accepted that a long time ago.

‘He’d just a flatmate.’

Minerva looked at me again, just a little too closely for a little too long before she said, ‘I see.’

‘Yes, well…’ I cleared my throat. Minerva poured a cup of tea and handed it to me before settling back in her seat with her own cup.

‘Tell me, John, what have you been about lately?’

‘Ah, well. I’m a doctor now. You know, the Muggle version of a Healer. And I go out on a lot of cases with my flatmate.’

‘That sounds rather interesting. What kind of work does he do?’

‘He’s a detective. Calls himself a consulting detective. He’s always getting himself into trouble. Usually it’s me who’s got to pull him out. Our last case he was nearly dragged down in the Thames. And the case before that he nearly got me killed by Chinese smugglers. And for some reason, he has this strange fascination with my scar. He’s always asking to see it.’

Minerva cocked an eyebrow at me and regarded me curiously.

‘What is it?’ I asked. Sometimes she could be quite unnerving.

‘And here I’d thought you’d left the Aurors for a quiet life.’

I laughed. ‘So did I. But my flatmate’s a bit mad, yeah.’

Minerva smiled. ‘So it would seem. Are you not concerned he’ll-’

‘-figure out it’s not actually a bullet wound but a leftover from a curse?’

‘Well, yes...’

I laughed again. ‘He’s yet to wonder how the tea makes itself in the morning. I think I’m alright.’

‘I do hope so, John, for your sake.’

‘I’m sure I’m fine.’ I finished off my tea and set my cup on the desk. ‘So,’ I ventured. ‘ I assume you invited me up here for some other reason than a visit.’

‘Yes, I did.’ Minerva sighed. ‘I know that you are no longer an Auror, but I’d like you to keep an eye on something for me.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s one of my students. Her name is Zariel Mondragon. She lives in London, so I immediately thought of you. I’ve come across some rather disturbing evidence that she might be getting involved with some sort of dark magic. Her teachers have found unfamiliar spells in her belongings, and I’ve found a few questionable items when I searched her things. I’d really rather not take it to the Ministry yet; if I can, I want to stop it here. She’s only sixteen after all.’

I remained silent for a moment. Moving around London wasn’t too difficult, but I never knew when Sherlock was going to drag me off for some case. If I needed to, I could always use a concealment charm to get away.

‘I’ll do it. Like I said, my flatmate’s a bit erratic, but I’ll do what I can.’

Minerva relaxed a bit. ‘Thank you, John. The Hogwarts Express took the students back to London yesterday.’

‘Of course, Minerva. Anything for you. You’ve done so much for me.’

‘You would have gotten into the Aurors even if I hadn’t said anything. You have passion.’

‘Don’t forget St. Mungo’s,’ I added. ‘There’s no way they would have allowed me to train to be an Auror and a Healer at the same time if you didn’t vouch for me.’

‘It is not a decision I regret. You are truly impressive, John.’

‘Thank you.’ I stood and pulled the hood of my cloak over my head. ‘Good evening, Minerva. It was a pleasure.’

‘Good night, John.’

I walked out of the office pulling the door shut behind me. As I walked through the corridors, I considered what Minerva had told me. The girl had plenty of opportunities to find trouble in London. I should probably start at her house and move on to the seedier magic shops in the area. Knockturn Alley as well. Once I was far enough away from the main gates, I turned on the spot and appeared in 221C a moment later. I looked around the room. I kept all my magical things down here. I hung my cloak next to a pair of robes and left the room, charming the door so that it would only open for me. Thank god Mrs. Hudson was a witch, or I’d have a difficult time hiding all my things.

I hurried up the stairs, making sure my wand was still well concealed in the sleeve holster under my jumper. It really was too bad I couldn’t bring Sherlock in on this case. I had been a good Auror, but Sherlock would have been amazing, better than even Harry Potter.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table when I came in. There were papers everywhere, and Sherlock was busy gazing into his microscope. No case then. He didn’t look up as I passed him and walked into the living room.

‘You’re back early,’ he said, still not looking up from his microscope.

‘What?’ I replied. I hadn’t even thought he’d noticed me coming in.

‘From the pub.’

Ah, of course. ‘Kerry didn’t show up.’

‘The mysterious Kerry who has no records, no internet presence, and whom I have never been able to find.’

This lie was getting more and more ridiculous. Still, I needed an excuse for when I went out for magical reasons.

‘I don’t know what you want from me. Kerry’s my mate, and he likes to go to the pub.” Sherlock finally looked up and arched an eyebrow at me unbelievingly. I continued. ‘I’m sorry you don’t like it.’

‘Whether I like it or not is irrelevant. You just insist on wasting your time at those pubs.’

‘Jealous?’ I teased.

‘Wha-no! Of course not.’

‘Just because you’re above human interaction doesn’t mean the rest of us are.’

‘Emotion, by it’s very definition, is illogical and irrational.

‘Alright, Spock.’ I picked up my laptop off the coffee table, which is definitely not where I had left it, and sat down in my favorite chair.

I entered Zariel’s name into the browser and hit enter. The wizarding world had come a long way in the last ten years or so. They managed to create a Wizarding Web and even a wizard television network. Of course, only magical people could access it, but once it was up. There were Muggle Repellent Charms on them, but I was always especially careful around Sherlock because I wasn’t entirely sure that they’d work on him.

Not much came up on Zariel beside a little extra background information. I logged out and glanced over my shoulder to make sure Sherlock was busy before I pulled my wand out and wiped my history. I typed a few lines in my blog, making it seem as if I had been been on it all along. I always had to make sure that I left enough on my history so Sherlock wouldn’t be too suspicious.

I glanced back over at Sherlock. He seemed to be nearly finished with his experiment, so I quickly shoved my wand back into my sleeve. A moment later, Sherlock was standing behind me. The man moved so quickly that sometimes I’d swear the man could Apparate.

‘I see you’re working on that infernal blog of yours again.’

‘Oi! Don’t knock it. How do you think you’ve got all your business?’

‘Irrelevant, unnecessary, boring.’

I sighed as I stood and stretched. ‘I’m off to bed,’ I said, yawning. ‘I’ve work in the morning.’ I started toward the stairs.

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise as he crossed the room and picked up his violin. I groaned inwardly. Now I’d have to put a Silencing Charm on my room if I had any hope of sleeping. I really hated it because I couldn’t hear what was going on in the flat. Sherlock could set off an explosion, and I’d never know. Still, I’d had a long few days.

Just as I was about to open the door to go upstairs, there was a knock. I pulled to door open. Lestrade was standing there, scrubbing his hand over his face. When he noticed the door had opened, he jumped, apparently not expecting a quick response.

‘Hey,’ he said recovering quickly. ‘Sherlock here?’ There was a loud screech of the violin from behind me.

‘Yeah, come in.’

Lestrade walked in, and I noticed a folder in his hand. Good. Sherlock was about to sink into one of his fits of boredom.

‘I assume you have a case for me, Lestrade,’ Sherlock said, refusing to turn and face us. I headed toward the kitchen to make a pot of tea.

‘Uh, yeah. Young girl. Can’t figure out the cause of death. Looks like she just dropped dead.’

‘So?’ Sherlock had finally turned around to fix Lestrade with a scornful expression.

‘So, there were signs of a struggle, but she didn’t die from any of the trauma.’

I spun around, nearly spilling hot water down my front. Last thing I needed was Sherlock investigating a Killing Curse. He’d just end up dragging me around getting frustrated. I still had the girl to look into, and he’d drag me all over London for a week before admitting that he had no clue what had happened.

‘Where?’ Sherlock asked.

‘St. Giles, near where it turns into Tottenham Court,’ Lestrade said, obviously relieved that Sherlock was taking the case.

Tottenham Court Road was near Diagon Alley. Not very surprising that they’d find a Killing Curse victim there. There was a lot of wizard traffic there.

Lestrade opened the folder. ‘The victim’s name is Zariel Mondragon. We can’t find any record of her though, so we think it’s an alias...’

Well shit.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock forced Greg to leave, insisting that we’d be right behind him. At the same time, I was going through every last line of my medical knowledge trying to come up with a plausible cause of death that would explain why Zariel just seemed to drop dead.

The second the door shut, Sherlock began to bounce around the flat, his blue dressing gown flapping behind him.

“A case, John!” he exclaimed as he grabbed his cup of tea that I’d forgotten I was holding. “A nine, at least, from the sound of it.” He flounced past me, because that was really the only word for it, into his room, shutting the door behind him.

Maybe Mrs. Hudson would have an idea.

Sure that Sherlock wouldn’t emerge for a few minutes (he always took forever dressing, especially after he’d spent days moping around the flat), I ran down stairs and knocked on Mrs. Hudson’s door. She opened the door a few moments later.

“John! What a surprise. Come in. Is Sherlock getting on your nerves, dear?”

I stepped through the door and waited until it was shut before pulling out my wand and casting a Silencing Charm.

“What’s this all about, John?” she asked, eyeing my wand. She rarely saw it, and I rarely pulled it out around her. Sherlock usually burst in on us whenever I was visiting. He felt like he was being left out of something important when the two of us were talking.

“Sherlock just got a case. It’s an Avada, I’m almost positive.”

“Oh dear. That’s no good.”

“No, it’s not.” I leaned against the door. My shoulder was aching from being at Hogwarts. All the magic in the air made it ache. “I’m trying to come up with something to tell him, but I’m drawing a blank.”

Mrs. Hudson clucked. “Well, he can’t find out. He is a Muggle after all. Sometimes I think he suspects something is up with my flat, you know, the way there’s never any dust, but he never has figured it out.”

“No, but he’s going to be unbearable if he doesn’t solve it. You know how he gets. I think this time it will be one of the worst.”

“Don’t worry, John, dear. I’ve seen him at his worst; you haven’t. It’s nothing you can’t handle. He’s so much better now that he’s got you.”

I sighed. She was still on about that. Checking the time, I saw that I’d been down here about five minutes. Sherlock would be ready to leave soon.

“I’ve got to go, Mrs. Hudson. I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Be safe, dear.”

I nodded as I left her flat and headed back up the stairs. As I entered the flat, I didn’t see any sign of Sherlock, but the bathroom light was leaking out from the gap beneath the door. He was probably messing with his hair. Since I was still dressed, there was nothing for me to do but wait. 

Maybe I could say she was suffocated. Still, there probably wouldn’t be any physical signs. No bruising on the face or neck or any sort of lacerations on the inside of her mouth from her teeth. 

I scrubbed my hand across my face. There was a reason I left the magical world, but now I was being forced back into it with my mad Muggle flatmate. It’s not like I could just tell him I was a wizard. Even if I could convince him magic was real, there were about a dozen Ministry rules that kept me from telling him.

There’s the exception for significant others, a voice said in my head.

Just then, the bathroom door opened, scattering my thoughts. Probably a good thing. That was the sort of thing I didn’t need to be thinking about. After all, it would never happen, and even if it did, I’d be telling probably the most rational human alive that magic was real. That would go over so well.

“Are you ready, John” Sherlock asked as he slid the Beltaff coat on over his well-tailored suit.

“Yeah,” I said as I stood. I joined him at the coat rack as he was winding the blue scarf around his throat. 

I followed him down the stairs and out the front door without a word. Not that speech was necessary. Sherlock was a whirlwind of energy, thoughts and deduction streaming from his mouth. I really hated when he didn’t have a case. Partly because he was irritating as hell, but mostly because all that energy and intelligence turned inward to tear him apart. Sometimes I wondered if I slipped him a Draught of Peace, he’d manage the boredom a little better. Technically, it was okay to use potions on Muggles, but with that big brain of his, who knows how he’d react. Not to mention my potion making skills were rusty. Didn’t want to poison him.

Finally, we arrived at the scene. Lestrade was waiting outside, his arms crossed tightly. He was irritated. I glanced at my watch. It had been nearly half an hour. I really didn’t blame him.

“Where were you?” he asked as Sherlock glided across the pavement toward him.

“In there, I assume?” Sherlock asked, ignoring the question. Lestrade nodded tersely and turned on his heel to lead the way.

“She was found by a couple of teenagers who were trying to, er, you know….” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Anyway, we couldn’t find the cause of death. She has a couple of bruises and a nasty scratch, but nothing that would have killed her.”

Sherlock ducked under the police tape, then held it up for me. I followed him around the last corner where I saw the body of a girl lying on the ground. She had long dark hair and was wearing Muggle clothes.

Sherlock bent over the body. “Late teens, probably sixteen. Fashion is out of date, late 90s.” He went around to the other side and looked at her right hand. “She went to some sort of boarding school up north, wore a uniform, and,” he paused for a moment, “wrote everything by hand with something other than a pen or pencil.” He pulled up her sleeve on her right arm, then left and furrowed his brow. “Raised by traditional parents who insisted that she follow their way of life. This looks like it might be some kind of religious tattoos.” He stood and looked at me. “John, cause of death?”

I took a pair of gloves from Lestrade, who was leaning against a wall watching. He was used to this now. I pulled the gloves on with a snap and knelt next to the girl. Looking closely, I saw no sign of death. I checked her over for anything and everything: suffocation, head injury, poisoning, anything. I couldn’t find anything. Just the signature look of terror that one has when they know they are going to die from a curse with no way to stop it.

I was about to stand when I saw the bottom of the tattoo peeking out from beneath her sleeve. It looked familiar. Curious, I pulled it up. Dread washed over me. It was the Dark Mark. But what was she doing with it? She was born long after You-Know-Who died. Only former Death Eaters had these.

I glanced up at Sherlock. He must have seen my expression. He didn’t understand. “Can’t find anything definitive,” I said. “Maybe poison?”

“That wouldn’t explain the expression on her face.” His gaze swept over me again, then walked back to Lestrade. He knew I knew something. I followed behind him, slowly peeling off my gloves.

“I’m going to need sample sent over to Barts. There is no clear cause of death.”

“Hold on,” Lestrade said as Sherlock started to turn the corner. “Explain.”

Sherlock huffed and settled back on his heels. “What exactly would you like to know?”

“The boarding school, the parents, and the tattoo.”

“Easy. Her tan lines indicated that she wears the same clothes every day. Strong line, especially on the neck and the wrist. She’s still pale, so she doesn’t get a lot of sun, especially since she isn’t in the south. She has callouses on the fingers of her right hand from writing, but they aren’t from a pen or a pencil the callouses would be different. As for the parents, she is wearing clothes that are more than ten years out of style. Her parents would never let her dress like this; she’s bought them on her own, but she hasn’t had access to current fashion. The tattoo lacks artistic choice, especially for a sixteen year old girl. It isn’t affiliated with any gangs, and there are religious themes. The serpent, the skull, and the infinity sign. Perhaps an occult group. Now if that’s all, I’m busy.”

Lestrade nodded, and Sherlock whipped around the corner.

I paused. “Thanks. He was starting do experiments. I think he was going to go after my jumpers next.”

“No problem. I really didn’t know where to start with this one. But he likes the strange ones.”

I nodded. “I’ll see you at the pub Saturday, yeah? Assuming he’s not dragging me all over London?

He nodded, and I turned the corner quickly. Sherlock was waiting next to the road. I ducked under the police tape and hurried over to Sherlock, who was hailing a cab. 

A black cab pulled up to the curb. It was like magic, how Sherlock was able to get a cab whenever, wherever. We were both silent the entire way back to the flat.

What was that girl doing with the Dark Mark? It wasn’t a true Dark Mark. Only You-Know-Who could brand people. But who would choose to take that mark. Only someone who grew up around the Dark Arts. Somehow, her involvement in the Dark Arts didn’t seem so surprising anymore. 

I could feel a sharp gaze on me, and I looked up. Sherlock was staring at me intently, like he was trying to figure something out. I raised an eyebrow. Sherlock responded with a slight tilt of his head and a shrug. I shook my head then looked away. 

As the cab pulled up in front of the flat, I realized that I just had a completely silent conversation with my flatmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long hiatus, but I'M BACK! Lots and lots has happened since I last worked on this. Graduated college, moved back home, and started a job as a substitute teacher, but I'm totally down for more Potterlock.  
> Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a short one. I'll have another one up soon.

I hurried out of the cab before Sherlock could. I smiled vindictively as I pulled out my keys. He could pay for the cab at least once. Unfortunately, he was behind me again in moments. I had a feeling that we were going to have a conversation about the scene.  
I pushed the door open and headed straight for the stairs. With any luck, I’d be able to slip up the stairs to my room before he had the chance to corner me. 

Just as I turned to walk up the stairs, however, Sherlock said my name.

“Yes, Sherlock?” I asked wearily. So much for that plan.

“At the crime scene, you recognized that tattoo.” He paused for confirmation. I didn’t give it.

“You save me a great deal of time if you told me what it was.” 

I sighed and turned to face him. “I thought I did, but I was wrong.”

“What did you think it was?”

“I saw something like it in Afghanistan,” I improvised. Maybe he’d buy that. Going by his expression, he didn’t.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded resolutely. He didn’t look like he believed me. “Fine. Any other ideas about the cause of death?”

“Not really. Look, Sherlock, I’m exhausted, and I have to work in the morning. Can I please just go up to bed?”

He nodded jerkily. “Very well.’ Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed into the kitchen. I quickly made my way up the stairs and into my room before I groaned. He was never going to buy any excuse I gave him. That is the disadvantage to living with a man who can see through just about anything.

I shed my clothes and changed into my pyjamas before slipping into bed. I had to face Sarah in the morning. At first, I thought things were going great, but things had gone downhill a bit since the whole nearly getting killed thing. We both tried, but I really didn’t think things were going to work out. She was wary of my mad, dangerous lifestyle, and I was a bit hung up on my mad, dangerous flatmate.

 

After a long, torturous night of not sleeping, I was grumpy and exhausted. I slipped out of bed, grabbed my clothes for the day, and ambled sleepily down the stairs to the bathroom. Passing the door, I saw Sherlock sitting in his chair with my laptop balanced on his knees. Of course he was using mine. Still, if it kept him from bothering me….

One long shower later, I was ready to go out and face him. He was still sitting in his chair as if he hadn’t moved. I flipped on the kettle and opened the fridge, rooting around for breakfast. “Tea?” I called over my shoulder. I got a vague sort of grunt from the vicinity of the living room that I took as a yes. 

Once both cups were made, I set one on the table next to his elbow and sat down at the table with my toast. I was just finishing up the last couple of bites when the temperature behind me seemed to change. I whipped my head around and saw Sherlock standing behind me.

“Jesus, Sherlock!” I exclaimed, slopping my tea down the front of my jumper. “Did you need anything?”

“Did you come up with anything overnight? You didn’t sleep.”

“How did you-nevermind.” I stood up from the table. “No, I didn’t come up with anything.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at me. I shrugged and went back upstairs to change. I waved to Sherlock on my way out the door. Not that he paid any attention. 

The walk to the surgery was enough to clear my head, and by the time I was at work, that welling panic that had been building up since the night before had eased. 

Speaking of last night, I really needed to go tell Minerva what happened. She was waiting for something, and this was something I really could not keep from her. After work, assuming Sherlock doesn’t drag me off all over London again tonight.  
As I walked into the surgery, I kept an eye out for Sarah. It wasn’t that I was avoiding her, per se, but I more the awkward conversation we would need to have. 

I was successful until I’d finished with my third patient. Nasty stomach flu, nearly threw up on me, but I was thankful to send her on her way. Sarah came in as soon as she cleared the doorway with her anti-nausea medication.  
“Hey,” Sarah said with a slight smile. “Can, er, can we talk?”

I hesitated. Technically I had a break, but she would know that. “Yeah. Was there something specific you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes,” she said as she sat on the empty stool. She looked uncomfortable. 

“Is it about us?” I prompted.

She nodded. “I just don’t think it’s working between us. Maybe we should start seeing other people.”

I nodded. “I was kind of thinking the same thing. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“It’s not you,” she added hastily. “I just think we’re looking for different things.”

I nodded yet again. I really didn’t know what to say. “Er, if that’s all…?” I started.

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll let you get on with it.” She stood and quickly left the room. 

I should be upset by that, I thought as I sat down on the deserted stool, but I felt relief. It was probably a good thing that was taken care of. I had plenty of other things to think about.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day???? I must love you guys. This is the second chapter, so if you haven't read the previous chapter, you might wanna go read it.

Work, blessedly, went quickly after my awkward conversation with Sarah. I headed back to the flat right away to check in on Sherlock. Fortunately, he wasn’t there. Most likely, he was at Bart’s analyzing those samples. That should give me plenty of time to go see Minerva. It wasn’t like he missed me when he was focused on the Work. He just kept talking to me whether I was there or not. 

Back down the stairs and into 221C where I pulled my wand from its holster and turned on the spot. As I reappeared in Hogsmeade, I crouched so that the shadow of the Hog’s Head would hide me from sight. Once I was sure that there was no danger, I stood and headed toward the castle, keeping my wand unsheathed. I suppose these habits were leftover from my time as an Auror. You always had to keep an eye out for ambushes when you hunted dark witches and wizards for a living, especially during the war. My time in Afghanistan probably didn’t help me forget those habits either. 

A gust of wind hit me, and I realized exactly how cold it was here. London wasn’t exactly a sunny beach, but my jumper and jeans were far more suitable for its climate than it was for Scotland. I cast a quick Warming Charm and continued on my way.

There was no sign of Hagrid as I passed his cabin. I was around dinner time, so I was probably going to have to wait a little while to see the headmistress. As I passed the Great Hall, the chattering pouring from the doorway confirmed my suspicions.

Up the main staircase to the third floor, quick turn down the corridor, and I saw Minerva standing next to the stone gargoyles. She must have noticed when I entered the grounds. 

“I assume you have news?” she asked.

“Er, yeah. It’s not good.”

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation in my office.” She turned to the gargoyles who jumped aside when she gave the password. She started up the stairs, and I followed a few steps behind her.

Once inside the office, she gestured for me to sit in the chair across the desk from her. “Tea?” she asked.

“Yes, please.” She waved her wand and a tea pot appeared on the desk with steam pouring from the spout. Next to it were two teacups and a tartan tin that I believed she kept her biscuits in. 

“What have you found?” she asked as she handed me a cup of tea and nudged the tin (full of biscuits, as I suspected) in my direction.

“Zariel is dead.” I sounded much harsher coming from my mouth than Sherlock’s or Lestrade’s. 

“Dead? How?” The headmistress sounded outraged, but I could see the distress on her face.

“A Killing Curse. No mistake.”

Minerva shook her head. “Where did you find her?”

“The police found her in Muggle London. Near the Leaky Cauldron. They’re trying to figure out what happened, but they’re having no luck, as you would suspect.”

“Do you have any idea how it happened?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to tell her about the Dark Mark, but she did ask me to find Zariel because of her interest in the Dark Arts.

“Whatever it is, Mr. Watson, I would like to know.” She was very firm. She always was. There was no coddling Minerva McGonagall.

“She had a Dark Mark tattooed on her left forearm.” Minerva’s expression changed to one of confusion. “I know,” I said, cutting off any interruption she may have made. It was a dangerous thing for me to do, but I needed to fully explain. “Only You-Know-Who could give a real Dark Mark. It was just a copy, but I think that she had fallen in with a bad crowd. Who were her parents?”

“Her father was a wizard from Spain, Guillermo Mondragon. Her mother, I think you knew, although she was several years younger than you. Pansy Parkinson, now Pansy Mondragon.”

“So that explains where the interest in the Dark Arts started. The question is, who gave her the Mark? Parkinson was a real piece of work, but a Death Eater, she was not. Did the dad have any affiliation with You-Know-Who?”

“No. I checked it out. He was from one of the oldest wizarding families in Spain, however. That may explain why Pansy considered him a suitable husband in the first place.”

I nodded. “I’ll look into it. My flatmate is on the case, and he’s going to drive himself crazy over the whole thing. Maybe I can get some of my own investigation in while he’s busy.”

“I appreciate it, John. Zariel wasn’t a...pleasant person, but she was one of my students. I would like for this to be resolved and for those responsible to be brought to justice.”

“I’ll try my hardest, Minerva. It’s kind of funny. My flatmate thinks that just about everyone is an idiot, myself included. But I think he’s in awe of my ability to make connections. He has absolutely no idea how or why I’m able to keep up with him while others fall behind. I suppose being an Auror was good preparation for our friendship.”

Minerva watched me with an unfathomable look. “I suppose so. You two sound like a match made in heaven, if I may say so.” 

I nodded. I knew what she was implying, but I had to agree with her sentiment. Sherlock and I just--fit. 

“Don’t forget to let him know that you do care for him, whatever that way may be. Albus and I were very good friends, and I do regret not telling him how much I cared for him. He was, perhaps, one of the most important people in my life, even more so than my husband was.”

I was surprised. I don’t think I’d ever heard her mention her private life before. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied.

“If that’s all, Mr. Watson, I think you should head back to London to find out what happened to my student.” I stood to leave. All my years as an Auror, Healer, soldier, and doctor, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything as scary as the conviction in her eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on a roll! Three chapters in one day! Please make sure you read the two previous chapters.

Once I’d Apparated back into 221C, my text alert went off several times. I pulled out my phone and saw four texts from Sherlock.

**Where are you? -SH**

**You’re not in the flat, your pub, or at work. -SH**

**Tottenham Court Road, around the corner from the crime scene. -SH**

**Might be dangerous. -SH**

I sighed as I wrote back. Of course Sherlock would be sniffing around the Leaky Cauldron.

**Where are you? I swear, i f you’ve gotten yourself killed, I’ll kill you.**

**That would be difficult to accomplish considering I’d already be dead. -SH**

He sent me a text with the address a moment later. Shit. He was right next to the Leaky Cauldron.

**Close. I’ll be there in 3 minutes.**

Twisting on the spot, I Apparated to the Apparation point behind the Leaky Cauldron. I’d been out of the wizarding world for so long that no one in the pub recognized me as I walked through even though I went to school with several of them.

I glanced out the front door of the pub and saw Sherlock pacing in front. I waited until he was walking the other direction to step outside. With any luck, he wouldn’t try to go inside.

“There you are!” he exclaimed as he caught sight of me. “Where were you?” I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off. ‘Nevermind. Do you see what’s wrong here?”

Besides the fact that one of the most famous pubs ever is right in front of your nose, I thought.

“I just see a broken down old shop,” I responded.

“As ever, John, you see but do not observe. See here?” he asked as he walked up to the corner of the building. “This old shop is six inches closer to the street than either the bookshop or the record store. Why is that? If you look both direction, the rest of the stores fall on a straight line.”

“I dunno. I guess so.” Figures that Muggle Repelling Charms wouldn’t work properly on him. “What does that have to do with the case?”

“The flowers,” he said.

“What flowers?”

“The flowers, the pollen,” he said, exasperated. At the florist. Those are _Gloriosa_ , or flame lilies, which you don’t see just anywhere. Combined her proximity to this location with the pollen on her clothing and her nasal cavity, and we can assume that she was her some time near her death. As this is the only inconsistent building on the block, it’s a good place to start.”

“Okay, what do we do? Go inside?” Please don’t go inside.

“I was unable to pick the lock. It’s ridiculously well-guarded for an abandoned shop,” he said with a sniff. “Follow me.” He grabbed my wrist and almost immediately dropped it again.

“Are you ill?” he asked as he placed the back of his hand against my forehead.

“Um, no. Why?”

“You are excessively warm, especially for having been outside for as long as you have at this time of day.”

Damn. I forgot to cancel the Warming Charm after I left Hogsmeade.

“I’m fine. I just ducked inside a shop down the street to warm up before I came down here.”

Sherlock stared at me disbelievingly, closely inspecting me. “Come on,” he said, leading the way into an alley. Apparently, he seemed to drop it as I was showing no other sign of illness. As he started climbing a fire escape, I covertly cancelled the charm, hoping the heat would dissipate quickly.

“Sherlock,” I hissed from the bottom of the ladder. “What exactly are we doing?”

“We’re getting a look at the top and back of this building. Maybe we can find something since we cannot enter through the front.”

I started up the fire escape. Supposedly Muggles weren’t able to see into Diagon Alley from above. That would really be a problem with airplanes. Instead they just saw more rooftop. But what would happen if a Muggle stepped off the edge of the building thinking that there was more roof to walk on? I never had to deal with it as an Auror. That was Magic Law Enforcement Patrol or Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. Maybe it would be a good idea to stop him.

I’d just made it to the top of the fire escape when I saw Sherlock with a leg flung over the railing that dropped down into Diagon Alley.

“Sherlock, wait!” I said as I tried to scramble over to him.

“What’s the matter now? Are you finally going to admit you’re ill? You’ll have to wait a little while longer before we go back.”

And with that , he flung his other leg over the railing and plummeted into open space. 


	7. Chapter 7

Fortunately, Sherlock managed to fall off the roof right above Weasley Wizard Wheezes and landed on their giant wizard with the top hat. He only sprained his ankle, thank god. Unfortunately, he got quite an eyeful of the wizarding world.

It took about half an hour for the Obliviators to show up. Apparently, they didn’t think one Muggle falling into Diagon Alley was a big deal. In the mean time, I had to deal with slightly hysterical and an overly-curious Sherlock. He’d go from freaking out ( “This is not possible. It defies the laws of physics.”) to pestering everyone who got too near (“But how does that work?”). And then there are the questions he had for me (“You knew about this!” “Are you able to do that too?” “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”). I was grateful when they finally decided to show up, if for no other reason than to get him to show up.

After pestering me about having a Muggle in Diagon Alley, healing Sherlock’s ankle, and modifying his memory, I led a slightly dazed Sherlock to a cab. It was a bit disconcerting how well he was functioning after having his memory wiped. If I didn’t know him as well as I did, I wouldn’t notice any difference. This was Sherlock though.

As I pushed him up the stairs to the flat, Mrs. Hudson came out the door of 221A. “Oh my! Is he okay?”

Obliviated, I mouthed to her. Her eyebrows went up.

“Later,” I muttered.

“Later what, John?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh,’ I said, stalling for something, anything. “I-I’ll make you some toast later.”

“No one mentioned toast. Where did that come from?”

“With honey,” I added hastily. I was learning the detective’s weak spots.

“Perhaps.” (Like I said, disconcerting.)

I was able to push him into his room and pull the Belstaff and suit jacket off his lithe frame. When I got to the shirt, I hesitated. He’d be fine like that. Of course, I wanted to keep going, but there was no way I’d do that while he’s out of it. I pushed him down on the bed and knelt in front of him to pull off his shoes. Once that was complete, I tucked him into bed so, hopefully, he wouldn’t wander in the night.

I stood, my knees cracking, and looked around the room. The furniture was nice, and the room was surprisingly neat compared to the rest of the flat. I turned and saw the periodic table on the wall. That was definitely Sherlock.

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock muttered from the bed behind me. I hadn’t realized he was still awake.

“Any time, Sherlock.”

 

* * *

 

When I stepped out of the room, Mrs. Hudson was flittering around the flat with a feather duster fretting over the smallest specks of dust on the mantle.

“Ah, John,’’ she said when she saw me. “What happened?”

I pulled my wand from its holster and flicked it toward Sherlock’s bedroom door casting a wordless Muffliato. I never was sure where that spell came from, but it really was useful.

I sighed as I sank into Sherlock’s chair. For someone who left magic behind, I’d been using it an awful lot.

As Mrs. Hudson settled into my chair, I began to tell her the events of the day. Once I’d finished, she clucked in sympathy. “The poor thing. He must have been so confused.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” I laughed. “He couldn’t decide if he was confused or curious and settled for tormenting anyone that passed.”

“Well, at least it’s over. He’ll have no memory of any of it.”

“I’m just hoping he doesn’t get suspicious of the whole thing. Two hours of his evening missing is likely to drive him mad.”

“It will all work out.” Just then, the clock downstairs chimed one o’clock. “Oh dear. It’s late. I think I’ll just have an evening soother and pop off to bed.”

I smirked. I had a fairly good idea of what her evening soother was, but I didn’t bother her about it. She was Harmless, and I could barely smell the smoke from my bedroom. Granted, I think she might have added something magical to it as well….

“Good night, Mrs. Hudson,” I said. She slipped out of the flat, and I decided to go up to bed. The last two days had been exhausting. Knowing Sherlock, he’d have something even more ridiculous planned for tomorrow. Careful to hide my wand in its customary hiding spot, I crawled into my bed and drifted off to a deep sleep.

 

* * *

 

I was woken rudely by the screeching of the violin. I squinted at the alarm clock on my bedside table. 5:30. In the morning.The man was bloody insane.

“Sherlock!” I shouted as I came down the last couple of steps. “Do you know what bloody time it is?”

He was standing in front of the window in his second best dressing gown. As he turned, those eyes darted over me inquisitively. “Yes, John. It’s 5:38 in the morning. Do you have a problem?”

“Yes, I bloody well do.! I’m exhausted and you decide that a dawn wake up call is just the thing for me.”

Rather than responding, Sherlock crossed the room in two long steps (the man was a bloody giant) and rested the back of his hand on my forehead.

“Wha-what are you doing?” I asked. It was too early for the unexpected.

“You don’t seem to have a fever. It is difficult to tell however. The body’s temperature rises during sleep.”

“Sherlock.” I might as well resign myself to being awake. “I’m fine. I’m just exhausted.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he stopped himself. A moment later, almost as an afterthought, he said, “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” I ambled into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. A moment later, Sherlock was in the kitchen.

“There is no physical cause of death and no forensic evidence pointing to a killer. The only thing I have to go on is a bit of pollen, a building that is too large, and a seemingly non-existent boarding school.” He paused. The Obliviators must be getting better if he remembers the building. And it really was unlike Sherlock to qualify a statement.

Sherlock slowly crossed the kitchen until he was standing a couple of feet from me. Looking me straight in the eye, he said, “What I want to know is this: What do you know?”

Now I was starting to panic. Either he was desperate, or the Memory Charm hadn’t worked very well.

“You know more than I do.” I grasped for anything to deflect his attention from me. “I can only guess.”

“Hm.” Sherlock reached into the pocket of his dressing gown. “What is this then?”

As he asked the question, he drew my wand from the pocket and held it out in front of me.


	8. Chapter 8

“I, er, I dunno.” Good job, Watson. That was totally believable. “Where did you find it?”

“Under the loose floorboard beneath your bed. I have to applaud you; it wasn’t easy to find.” Of course it wasn’t easy to find. I’d used a charm to disguise the crack.

“Really? I have no clue what it is?” I needed to play my cards just right. With any luck, he’ll have just found it and not remember last night.

“Interesting piece of wood. Seems to be made from oak, just over ten inches long, and carefully carved and polished. It has a handle, meaning it is meant to be held like so.” He demonstrated by taking the wand in his right hand and flicking. I flinched, but he _was_ a Muggle, so I wasn’t in danger of him cursing me. “It’s made for a hand smaller than mine. Yours, on the other hand, appears to be just about the right size.”

Did he remember last night, or was he just deducing. He was really good at making it seem like he knew more than he actually did. But he did remember things from last night that really shouldn’t have. I was standing on a very dangerous fence. On one side, I was in danger of breaking the International Statute of Secrecy, and on the other, Sherlock was about to be hauled off by the Ministry and kept in some sort of protective custody. After all, they couldn’t let a Muggle who was resistant to Memory Charms wander around with their secret.

“Hm, that’s strange,” I replied. Now was definitely not the time to break. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Then you won’t mind if I burn it?” he asked as he strolled over to the fireplace and held the wand just far enough above the flames to avoid damage. I hadn’t even noticed there was a fire.

“Stop!” I said sharply. So much for keeping the secret. “It’s mine.”

“I thought you might see sense.” He stepped away from the grate, but instead of handing the wand back to me, he slipped it back into his pocket. My eyes followed the motion, and I knew he saw it.

“So, John,” he began as he flopped into his chair. I winced. The wand had magical reinforcement, but I really did not want to put it to the test. “What do you know?”

I slowly lowered myself into my chair. “How much do you know?” Sherlock’s scathing expression told me exactly what he thought of that question. “It’s important,” I added. “I have to know before I can tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because there are rules I have to follow.”

“You want to know what I know?” His tone had slipped into a very dangerous one. “Very well. I know that there’s a place in London where I can fall through a solid roof for absolutely no reason. I know that with the flick of a _stick_ , people can break the rules of physics and do the impossible. I know that there was a murder that made a person drop dead from _nothing_. I know that my best friend know exactly what happened but refuses to tell me a word about it.” Sherlock’s voice had risen through the entire speech until he was yelling. He sounded...hurt?

“So the Memory Charm didn’t work then?” Of course it didn’t. Sherlock’s mind just didn’t follow the rules.

“So that’s what that was? You tried to make me forget?”

“Not me. Them. Muggles aren’t supposed to know.”

“About?” He was leaning forward, he fingers were steepled in front of his chin. There were a myriad of emotions splashed across his face. Confusion, anger, hurt, and that longing for knowledge. I rarely got to see that side of him, but when I did, I sort of like it.

“Magic.” Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Sherlock? Are-are you okay?” Great. I broke him. All that amazing brainpower, and I had to be the one to break it.

His eyes snapped open. “I’m fine. Just processing.” He closed his eyes again, but a moment later, they snapped open. “How does magic work?”

Of course he’d go to the most complicated question first. “No one really knows. There’s a lot of study in Magical Theory, but there’s nothing definitive.

“And there is a large population of…?”

“Witches and wizards. And yeah, it’s fairly sizeable, especially after the war.”

“What war?” The question came immediately.

“You think crime only exists in the Muggle world?” I asked wryly. “There was a...dictator who overthrew the government. We’re such a small, tight-knit community that it really wasn’t that hard. Too many people wanted to believe that everything was fine when that was far from the truth.”

“You said there was crime. I’m assuming there is law enforcement as well.”

I combed my fingers through my hair. I was going to be here forever. “Yeah, there’s two branches. The first is the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. They deal with everyday stuff. Mostly has to do with anything that might expose us.”

“And the second branch?” he prompted.

“The Aurors.” There might just have been a hint of reverence in my voice for that one. “They hunt dark wizards.”

“I see.” Sherlock contemplated this for a moment. “I assume you are a wizard as you have a wand.”

“Yeah.” And there it was. I was going to have to figure this out. I had no idea what I was going to do about this. Sherlock looked far too delighted by that.

“You were an Auror.”

I laughed harshly. “Was it really that obvious?”

He smirked. “Of course.”

“What gave me away?”

“Beside the blatant longing in your voice when you mentioned it? You have previous law enforcement experience, but not at the level of a beat officer. You have the skills of someone who dealt with dangerous people in an official capacity. Some would attribute that to your military service, but it runs deeper than that. In the military it was shoot or be shot. In law enforcement, containment and questioning were key. You’ve demonstrated an ability to do both.”

I raised my hand to stop him as he drew breath. “Got it.”

“How did you learn magic?”

“Boarding school. Hogwarts. It’s actually the one that the girl went to. Best school you can go to. Only one in Britain.”

“And where we were last night?”

“Diagon Alley. Mostly full of shops. It’s where we buy magical supplies. Potion ingredients, robes, books.”

Sherlock’s eyes brightened. “How do I get in? You can’t all just fall in like that.”

“No, there’s an entrance. You have to have a wand.”

“So you can go in.”

“Yeah.” He was looking too excited. Like he was going to ask-

“Can you bring me with you?”

Yep. “No, Sherlock, I _can’t_. It’s against the rules.”

“Forget the rules!” he said with disgust.

“I can’t Sherlock. Do you have any idea what will happen if they find out that the Memory Charm didn’t work on you? Our most important rule is to remain secret. At all costs.”

“They’d put me under arrest, I’d escape, and probably gain vital information in the process.”

“No, Sherlock.” He was rather thick at times. “They’d capture you, and they’d put you somewhere where you can’t escape, and they will never let you go.”

He snorted. “You think there’s a prison I can’t escape from?”

“A magical one, Sherlock, yes. Remember, they break the rules of physics, as you like to say.”

“What do they do for those with families who are not magical?”

“They have exception. Families and significant others are allowed to know, but they have to be sworn to secrecy.”

“We can do that.”

“Do what?” Did he really mean what I thought he meant.

“We can pose as partners. That way, you don’t have to worry about them trying to take me, and I can get the vital information I need to solve this murder.”

It was crazy. Why would I pose as Sherlock’s partner? I’d be torturing myself. he didn’t want me like that. Still, it might actually work.

Shit.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock knew how to torture me. He didn’t know that, but he really was very good at it.

“No one will buy it.”

“I’m an excellent actor, and you are passable. We know each other well enough that it would work.”

“What if people in the Muggle world found out?” Anything to get out of this torturous plot.

“It would be amusing. And anyway, if there’s such a separation between the magical world and our world, then no one should have any reason to see us.”

“But, Sherlock-”

“There is no reason to protest so much. Unless you have some kind of problem with homosexuality.”

“Jesus! Of course not. My sister is a lesbian.”

“That doesn’t automatically absolve you of all homophobia.”

He had me backed into a corner. If I didn’t go with him, he’d just sneak into Diagon Alley on his own and get caught. At least I’d be able to keep a tight rein on him if I accompanied him. Anyway, it was the best way to investigate Zariel’s death. With all this conflict with Sherlock, I hadn’t had a chance to do much. With Sherlock’s big brain on the case I might actually get somewhere. I had ways to investigate, but with him helping, I’d get much more accomplished.

“Fine, Sherlock. I’ll do it. Just-what is this going to involve?” Better get prepared. Who knows what he’d be throwing my way.

“Not much. Mostly just appearing in public together. You telling people that we’re partners when they ask why there’s a non-magical person in their space. A bit of public affection.”

Thanks, Sherlock. That was sooooooo helpful. “Okay.” I sat there awkwardly for a moment before standing up. “I’ll, er, I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Good. We need to get going as soon as possible.” Nope, not even any chance for me to adjust to the idea. “What should I wear?” Ah, yes, the man with that huge wardrobe and a millions disguises.

“Your normal clothes. There are plenty of people who dress in Muggle clothes.” Sherlock nodded. He actually seemed a bit disappointed. “I’ll just go get dressed then.”

Since Sherlock didn’t react, I decided there would be plenty of time for a quick shower. He wasn’t going to do anything until I left the room. I ran upstairs quickly and grabbed my thing before coming back down to the shower. Sherlock was still in his chair as I passed, but I wasn’t concerned. He’d be up before long.

As the water was warming up, I mulled over how this would work. I left the wizard world around twelve years ago, not long after the war. It had been too much. As soon as I’d left St. Mungo’s, I put my wand away and almost never went back. Now Sherlock was forcing me back into it full-fledged. With any luck, my old school friends and my few work friends wouldn’t notice me. Besides them, there really wasn’t anyone I had been close to. The only person I really missed was Lior. Not that I could visit him. Not after the war. Not after what he did.

Stop that, I told myself sternly. No point dwelling on the past. I stripped quickly and got into the shower, thankful for the warmth. As long as I kept it together, everything would be okay. The only thing that was concerning was the whole affection thing. Still, how bad could it be? A bit of hand-holding, maybe a smile or two. After all, that wasn’t Sherlock’s “area.”

I felt much better as I emerged from the loo freshly showered and dressed. Sherlock was sitting at the table with my laptop open. He was, of course, immaculately dressed.

“Ah, good. You’re ready.” He stood and pulled his coat on, which had been draped across the back of his chair

So much for breakfast. “Yeah.” I patted my pockets, checking to see if I had everything. Oh, yeah. My wand. “Can I have my wand back?”

Sherlock picked it up from the table and handed it to me, a sort of longing in his eyes. “Let me just go grab my holster for this.” I ran up the stairs before Sherlock could ask me any questions. I pulled the holster from my wardrobe (I had dropped it in there without my wand the night before) and strapped it to my forearm. No need for a gun when you had a wand.

I quickly trotted down the stairs where Sherlock was waiting. “Ready now?” he asked.

“Mhm. Let’s go.” Sherlock started down the stairs just ahead of me, but by the time I’d gotten down them, he was half-way out the front door. “Sherlock, wait.”

“Yes? I thought we were leaving.” He was bristling with irritation. Amazing how excited he was for this.

“Yeah, we are, but there’s a faster way?”

“Really?” he asked. He was definitely interested. “I’m assuming it uses magic?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s not really comfortable, but it’s really fast.”

“As I’ve said many times before, John, it’s just transport.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything. Instead I turned around and headed into 221C. I heard Sherlock’s footsteps behind me, muffled by the slightly dusty carpet. He was starting to concern me. Letting me take the lead with almost no questions? That really wasn’t like him.

I opened the door to 221C, which I had charmed so that only Mrs. Hudson or I could open it, and stepped inside. Sherlock gasped as he walked in the room. I guess that was to be expected. The first thing anyone would see walking in the door was my collection of books. Textbooks, books from Auror training, and all the various books I’d picked up out of interest lined the back wall. To be fair, the second wall covered in books was Mrs. Hudson’s. She had a more impressive collection than I did.

I turned to look at Sherlock. He was frozen on the spot, mouth gaping open. I’d never seen him like that before, excluding last night when he fell into the wizarding world.

“Are you okay, Sherlock? If it’s too much, we can do this another day.” His mouth snapped shut. “Or, you know, not at all,” I added hopefully.

“I’m fine. Let’s get going.”

“Hold on. One more thing.” I crossed to the bureau next to the door and pulled open the top drawer. Inside, I pulled out the cloth pouch that was tucked into the corner.

“What’s that?” Sherlock asked.

“Money. You want to see?” He didn’t respond, but the glimmer in his eye was enough of an answer for me. I pulled the strings back and dropped the some of the coins into my hand. I didn’t have that much, but I had closed my Gringotts account a few years ago so I didn’t have to deal with it.

Sherlock picked up a bronze Knut from my palm. “This is…?”

“A Knut. The silver ones are Sickles and the gold are Galleons.”

“Interesting names. One shares its name with a type of ship, one with a piece of hardware, and the last with a farming implement.”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“No, it’s merely evidence of how nomenclature can be bastardized for everything.”

“Er, if you say so.” Sherlock shook his head in disgust; he always hated it when I didn’t keep up with him.

“How much are they worth?”

“One Galleon’s worth about five pounds. Seventeen Sickles equals one Galleon, and twenty nine Knuts in one Sickle.”

Sherlock snorted.

“What?”

“That’s ridiculous. Their numerical basis for their monetary system is irregular making it difficult to calculate the sums necessary to make up one denomination. For example, if one had five hundred Knuts, it would take far too long for the average person to convert the rate to Galleons.”

My head was starting to hurt. “I don’t know, Sherlock. It’s the goblins that are in charge of that sort of thing.”

“Goblins?” he asked, perking up immediately. Great.

“Yeah. They’re short stumpy looking creatures. Although I’d never say that to a goblin’s face. They can be vicious.”

“So, there are magical creatures as well?”

“Yeah. Some of them are intelligent, but some of them are evil. I heard the gamekeeper at Hogwarts had some nasty creatures at some point. Blast-Ended something. They were evil from what I heard.”

“They sound exciting. Where would we find them?”

“Jesus, Sherlock,” I sighed. “One thing at a time, please.”

Sherlock pouted, but agreed. “As long as we get to look at them as some point,” he added after a moment’s thought.

“Are you ready to leave?” I was getting tired of standing around the damp basement flat. Anyway, I wanted to get Sherlock out of there before he saw Mrs. Hudson’s potions set-up in the next room.

“Ah, yes. Our magical means of transport. Please lead the way.”

I took Sherlock’s arm and looped it through mine. “So you’re warming up to the idea of us posing as a couple, John?”

“No,” I snorted. Anyway, there wasn’t any warming up necessary. “Hold on tight.” I tightened my own grip on his arm to be sure I didn’t lose grip, and then pulled out my wand. Sherlock had just opened his mouth to most likely ask another annoying question when I turned on the spot, and we disappeared with a pop.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. It's been a long, long week, but I finally got something!

Sherlock staggered as we landed behind the Leaky Cauldron, nearly pulling me down with him. As it was, it was only a silent Cushioning Charm that kept him from breaking his nose on the pavement. I grabbed Sherlock by the forearm and hauled him up.

“Are you okay?”

Sherlock brushed the dust off his coat and snorted indignantly. “What, may I ask, was that?”

“Apparition.” I straightened Sherlock’s collar, trying to ignore the shiver that went up my spine as a finger brushed his jaw. “We disappeared and reappeared in another place.”

“Yes, I got that.” He turned in a circle, nearly a pirouette really, and surveyed the small space we were standing in. “This is the entrance we passed through on our way out.”

“Um, yeah.” I was still completely thrown by the Memory Charm not working. I’d never heard of something like that before. “So you remember this too?”

“Mhm.” He was amused now. So glad I entertained him…

“How much do you remember?”

“Everything. It was a bit fuzzy at first, but the memories came through in the end.”

I nodded. “How do we get out of here?” Sherlock asked.

“I have to use my wand on the wall.” I tapped the correct brick, and a moment later, they shifted aside to form an archway. “Welcome back to Diagon Alley.”

Sherlock walked through the archway, he eyes darting from shop to shop, person to person.

“Where do we start?” I asked as I joined him, the bricks behind me shifting back to their original state.

“Is there a place where less savory types congregate.” I sighed. Straight to the point.

“Yeah, Knockturn Alley. It’s where,” I paused, trying to find the best way to phrase it.

“Spit it out, John,” Sherlock said impatiently.

“You see a lot of supplies for the Dark Arts there. It isn’t as bad as it used to be, but there’s still a lot of black market trade going on over there.”

“Lead the way.” Yeah, just lead the way into one of the places that dark wizards are known to congregate with absolutely no consideration for the appearance that would give.

“Fine, but be subtle.” I started off in the direction of Knockturn Alley, trying to look like I wasn’t doing anything suspicious.

‘Really, John?” Sherlock said, his mouth right next to my ear. I shivered again. He took my hand and kept pace next to me as we continued on.

His fingers were long and strong, I thought as he gripped my hand. The callouses on his fingertips scratched at my hand a little, but it didn’t hurt. It was kind of reassuring, letting me know who it was who held my hands  as I walked.

There was just one turn to the left, and, fortunately, there weren’t a lot of people around. “Sherlock,” I hissed as we slipped around the corner, “you’ve got to try not to look like a Muggle. The people here are a lot less...open-minded.”

Sherlock nodded and dropped my hand. I tried not to mourn the loss of the contact, but I really wasn’t successful. “Now what?” I asked.

“Not sure,” he replied before taking off ahead of me. I groaned as I quickened my pace to follow him. He darted from window to window, glancing through looking for God knows what. Finally, he stopped in front of one shops several yards ahead of me and began to speak to the woman standing in the doorway.

As I joined Sherlock on the bottom step of the entrance, the woman, an extremely old lady in dark robes with a tray of what looked like fingernails, abruptly stopped speaking.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock reassured her. “He’s with me. What were you saying about the girl?”

The woman looked uncertain, but she continued speaking. “A young thing, she was,” the woman croaked. “She passed through here, spoke to me for a moment, and left.”

“And that’s all?” Sherlock probed?

“Aye. That’s all.” Sherlock turned on his heel and started walking back in the direction of Diagon Alley.

I nodded hesitantly to the woman before turning to follow Sherlock. I didn’t dare call his name while I was still in Knockturn Alley. It wasn’t the place to draw attention to yourself.

“Sherlock!” I called when I finally turned the corner. He was leaning against a wall apparently waiting for me.

“The girl talked to that woman at length shortly before she was killed,” he said without preamble. “She was lying; she knew exactly what Zariel was up to.”

“And how do you know that?” I was half-way between impressed and irritated.

“Easy,” Sherlock said with a smug grin. It was a good look on him. “The flower on that tray; it was a Gloriosa. There was too much pollen on her for her to have just passed the florist; however, the woman bought that flower across the street.”

“Some people think you can use them in potions. It’s all experimental though, and it’s hard to find them in the wizard shops.”

“How did you know she was lying about talking to Zariel.”

“Her posture shifted into a more defensive pose. She was also attempting to make the conversation end. Both are signs that a person is uncomfortable with a conversation. Add to that the fact that she was contradicted herself. At the beginning of the conversation, she knew who Zariel was without me having to clarify. Later, after you joined us, she started referring to her as the girl. She obviously has something to hide.”

“D’you think she killed Zariel?” She looked harmless, but you could never be too sure in the wizarding world. The elderly had experience, even if they didn’t always have the strength to cast a spell.

“No. Her reaction was all wrong. If she was the killer, she’d have been much more careful.” Sherlock pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket. “This letter, however, may be more telling.”

He handed me the parchment, and I unrolled it.

“Don’t share what you know, or the same may happen to you. -Mara”

“So whoever killed Zariel is threatening the woman now?” I asked.

“Exactly.” Sherlock pushed off the wall and started walking back toward the Leaky Cauldron. Apparently we were finished. I glanced over at Gringotts. There was a security  goblin standing at the door. I glanced back at Sherlock. He was looking at it, but he was refraining from asking questions. Still trying to fit in then. He was going to bombard me with questions when we got back to the flat later…

Suddenly, I banged into something solid. “What’s the-” I started.

“Do watch where you’re going, John,” Sherlock said. He had frozen in the middle of the street, his gaze fastened onto one of the storefronts.  Ah, Madam Malkin’s.

“Those are wizard clothes?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh no,” I knew exactly where this was going. “I’m not getting you a set of robes.”

“But why not John?” he said, practically pleading.

“For one, you don’t need them. Second, you’d just use them to sneak in here. Third, because I don’t have enough money for a set right now.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but I had a feeling that next time (and there was going to be a next time. I just knew it) I’d be getting him measured for a set of robes.

“Look,” I said, thinking quickly, “We’ll go into the Apothecary. It’s where you buy potion ingredients.”

The petulant expression on his face left. “Very well.”

“C’mon. It’s right next to the Leaky Cauldron.”

We picked our way through the growing crowd on our way to the Apothecary. At least he didn’t see Ollivander’s, I thought wryly. He’d probably be in there trying to get a wand to work for him.

As I walked in, I noticed that the smell was worse than I remembered. Sherlock was in a corner examining the contents of several barrels.

“John,” he called, looking up toward the ceiling at a bundle of clearly labeled silver hairs, “is there really such a thing as a unicorn?”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “We use the hair and horn in potions.”

I leaned against the counter as Sherlock continued to examine the various potion ingredients.

“Is he a Muggle?” asked the woman behind the counter.

“Er, yeah.” Remember the cover, I told myself. “My partner.”

“Ah,” the woman said, looking relieved. “First time in a wizard shop I take it?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “He’s really curious.”

“I can tell,” she said vaguely before going back to her ledger. I kept an eye on Sherlock as I browsed the ingredients around me. Things had gotten a bit pricey since I’d left.

There was a faint tinkle of the bell as another customer came in the door. I looked up, and I felt dread well up in my stomach. It was Mrs. Hudson. I’d forgotten to tell her that Sherlock knew.

Unfortunately, Sherlock looked up when I did and saw Mrs. Hudson enter. There was no opportunity for me to try to head her off.

“Mrs. Hudson, hello” Sherlock said.

“Ah, Sherlock, dear.” she said. She didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised. “How are you? And John,” she said turning her attention to me. “I trust you didn’t have any problems with this one?”

“Er, no,” I said. That was an unexpected turn.

“Good, good. I just needed to pick up a few supplies. I have a Replenishing Potion brewing, and I ran out of a few things.”

Sherlock had that gleam in his eyes. Time to go. “Let’s go, Sherlock,” I said as I grabbed his hand. “We’ll see you later, Mrs. Hudson.”

She waved goodbye as I pulled Sherlock out of the shop. Sherlock wasn’t protesting, which I was taking as a good sign.

“So, I didn’t think we’d run into her.” I said, rubbing my free hand over the back of my neck. “I totally forgot about it honestly.”

“It only makes sense, John. There’s a disturbing lack of dust in her flat. And anyway, you’d have to have her cooperation to use the basement flat for your things. There were far too many books for them to all belong to you. There were duplicates.”

I nodded. “Ready to go?” He nodded, and I tightened my grip on his hand. As I turned on the spot, he tightened his grip on my hand, and for one moment, I felt that we were truly together.


End file.
